Veins Aren't Murder Weapons
by x.ShatteredImage.x
Summary: [One Shot] My veins are like ropes. Ropes which i could kill with, strangle with. But these ropes are never used as murder weapons. Instead, they stay as visible reminders of time ticking by.


**Title: Veins Aren't Murder Weapons**

**Summery: **My veins are like ropes. Ropes which I could kill with, strangle with. But these ropes are never used as murder weapons. Instead, they stay as visible reminders of time ticking by.

**A/N: **Okay this is a totally weird One Shot. I just wrote it down because it came flowing out of my head. It's a sort of a will that Trinity might of written I suppose...I don't know

_My veins are like ropes. Ropes which I could kill with, strangle with. But these ropes are never used as murder weapons. Instead, they stay as visible reminders of time ticking by. _

_I'm gaining age and soon enough I'll be showing it. And soon enough, I'll pass and someone will live over me. Historians will attempt to repeat the past, setting up pointless experiments to further their findings. Of course, they'll never know the real story. They'll never realize how we woke up at the crack of dawn to complete our duties set for that particular day. They'll never know me._

_I doubt they'll even remember my name. I can imagine ''the person whom cracked the IRSD base'' will come into their mind when they're picking finest details out of their head and jotting them onto paper to report back to their bosses. _

_I'm not greedy. I don't want a huge funeral with tulips, daisies and daffodils planted in each and every room I had visited while I was alive. I don't want misused presents, ones with expensive wrapping paper and a silk ribbon tied around it, making it so awkward to open the damn gift. I just want it simple. A coffin and a candle will do._

_While I sit here and think this through, the most important person in my life is missing. He's on duty, scanning the code for any peculiar patterns or worrying defaults. I wouldn't want to be with anyone else the day I die, just him._

_And my belongings? To hell with them I say. Burn them, ruin the memories me and Neo once shared. It doesn't matter; it's only him I care about, no object or no other._

_The room is silent apart from the scratching of this pencil across the page. I like it. No noise of danger approaching or arguing. I sigh._

_I plan to lock this piece of sentimental paper away, under lock and key for safe keeping. I don't want a complete and utter stranger peering into my most utter and darkest secrets, or my will for that matter. _

_Neo should return soon, it's getting late and Morpheus said he didn't have to keep watch that long, a couple of hours should do._

_Finally I hear footsteps coming from outside. It's whom I expect, Neo gingerly revealing his face from behind the door as he opens it. I pretend to not notice his presence, and keep a look down on the piece of paper which I am currently writing on. _

_He doesn't bother asking what I'm doing, or why I'm exploiting all of our problems on a piece of shabby looking paper, about a year old. Instead, he creeps into bed without a murmur and leans in to face me. I reject him for the time being and face the other side of the wall, only until I've finished writing this of course. He's looking over my shoulder god dammit. I ought to finish this..._

…**_Ten years later_**

The reader eyes skip across each sentence, taking in every word. He found the piece of paper hidden behind the bathroom cabinet, a lock and key rusted around it. He ripped it apart, the paper flying towards the bath. Quickly, he saved the paper before it flew into the bath which was full of piping hot water.

After he finished reading, he swore to himself that not another being would look at it. He would follow Trinity's wishes. He looked at his veins, though they were only fourteen years of age, they still looked worn.

He placed the piece of paper in its original hiding place. He thought to himself that this apartment was once shared by the One and Trinity. Many people thought it rude to discuss their lives in front of others, so he never knew the real truth behind this apartment; he never knew that the home had been empty for ten years, no one daring to step in.

He thought it inconsiderate of others never to remember the two people who were responsible for the ending of the war. But, as his mother once told him, ''That's just the way it is''

_Fin._


End file.
